Rhyming Your Emotions
by EGB Fan
Summary: A family piece on the Venkmans with a gentle pace: my take on a certain someone last seen dithering beside a fountain with a violin.


**Disclaimer:** All rights reserved to Harold Ramis, Dan Aykroyd and various people at Columbia Pictures. Green Day, "Scum Bag": lyrics by Billie Joe Armstrong. All original characters in this particular story created by me.

**A/N (July 2009): **If you read the reviews of this story, know that I misremembered and said that Hayden was sitting his year nine SATs. That's wrong. He is in fact too young for that in this story, and is sitting his year six SATs, a mere child of eleven. Thank you.

_Ghostbusters: _**Rhyming Your Emotions**

**July 1999: Los Angeles, California**

It was Hayden Wallance's first visit to America – hardly surprising when you consider that the boy was only five years old. He had flown over from London with his father Andre and his younger brother Lars. He was missing his mother already: Kate, who had stayed home with her fifteen-month-old daughter Emilia. Hayden, despite his tender and naïve age, strongly suspected that the timing of this trip was no accident. As much as she tried to hide it in front of her sons, Kate had looked like she needed a break since the day Emilia was born.

Andre Wallance was originally from America: New York to be exact, but they were in LA now because this was the home of Oscar Wallance, Andre's son from a previous marriage. Oscar had visited the Wallances in London a couple of times, and so Hayden knew and liked his older half-brother, then eleven. He had also met Dana Venkman, Oscar's mother, who had accompanied her son on these trips, and she seemed nice enough. However he was nervous of meeting Oscar's stepfather, having heard a few unfavourable comments about him from Andre. And apparently there was a little sister too: Jessica, a little under a year older than Hayden. Well, that should be all right. Hayden's experience of little girls had taught him that they were quiet, pretty and fragile. His friends' sisters were all like that, and now so was his – why should Oscar's sister be any different?

When Oscar answered the front door, he threw all of his concentration into welcoming his half-brothers. They both smiled weakly in response to his enthusiastic "Hi guys!" It seemed to Hayden that Oscar looked less like a typical Wallance every time they saw him. Today he was wearing oversized black jeans with rips in the knees and a Blink-182 t-shirt. His hair was deliberately scruffy and getting dangerously close to his shoulders – Hayden knew that his father wouldn't like that.

Dana appeared next and greeted the boys, doing her level best not to look at her ex-husband. Hayden and Lars found themselves shepherded into an untidy sitting room while Andre and Oscar exchanged a few words out in the hallway. Hayden could have sworn that he heard Oscar hissing vehemently, "Lay off, man – it's _my_ hair."

Peter Venkman was in the sitting room, vaguely picking up a few of the dozens of toys strewn across the floor. Lars gave no indication of how he was taking all this, but Hayden was feeling pretty nervous until Peter disarmed him with a warm smile and said pleasantly, "Hi there. I'm Peter – I'm Oscar's step-dad."

Neither of the brothers spoke much at the best of times, so Oscar hurried into the room and introduced them: "Dad, this is Hayden… and Lars." (Only Dana noticed Andre bristling at Oscar's use of the word "Dad".) There was a brief pause between the boys' names while Oscar quickly ascertained which of the brothers was marginally taller. This was essentially the only difference between them. They both had the same fair skin, blue eyes and straight blond hair. Oscar always noticed the bowl haircuts, and now he thought with immense relief, _That could have been me._

Peter and Dana finally got around to favouring Andre with a stiff hello. At that time Hayden was too young to recognise Dana's bitterness around his father, or the contempt mixed with jealousy that filled the air between her current husband and her ex. However he was aware of the hostility surrounding them, and he felt slightly uncomfortable.

"Where's Jess?" suddenly asked Oscar. "Don't say she's escaped."

"Oh God, I hope not," flinched Dana, and she immediately started a thorough search of the downstairs rooms. Then, apparently satisfied that her daughter was not on ground level, she went to the staircase and shouted loudly, "JESSICA VENKMAN, get your butt down here! We have visitors!"

The horror that Hayden and Lars experienced at hearing a six year old addressed like this obviously showed on their faces, because Oscar at once started to laugh. Then he tousled their neat blond hair – one head per hand – and said, "Don't worry – we just take some getting used to."

Jessica Venkman was puzzling and fascinating to Hayden even before he met her. He thought she must be very shy if her mother practically had to drag her downstairs before she would greet visitors. However all of his expectations were dashed when Jessica was steered forcibly into the room and stood rigidly in front of him, not moving only because Dana had a _very_ tight grip on her shoulders.

Hayden was stunned. For starters she just didn't _look_ like a girl – or at least not any of the girls he and Lars were encouraged to associate with. Her hair was a mess of unruly brown curls, and her green eyes seemed to flash with anger under her furrowed brow. She was scowling at the boys, her fists bunched at her sides – this being obvious despite the fact that they were hidden in her oversized sweater (a sweater in LA at _this_ time of year?). She was wearing Oscar's old jeans, which Hayden found astonishing – he had never seen a girl in trousers before.

Oscar did the honours: "Jess, Hayden and Lars. Hayden and Lars, my sister Jess."

At last Hayden found his voice. "Hello," he squeaked nervously.

Jessica just continued to glare at him. It was positively terrifying. And then, like some kind of automated doll, Dana squeezed her shoulders almost painfully hard and Jessica said blankly, "Hello."

"Come on, Jess – you can do better than that," Dana said through a fixed grin. "Why don't you show the boys some of your toys?"

Jessica shook her mother off her shoulders, her scowl and Dana's warning gaze both deepening. They exchanged a look loaded with meaning and then the fascinating girl turned back to the boys and asked bluntly, "Do you play soccer?"

There was a brief silence, and then Hayden realised that he was going to have to give some sort of answer. So he simply said what he was thinking: "What?"

"SOCCER!" shouted Jessica. "Do you play SOCCER?"

"Jessica!" snapped Dana.

"She means football, Hayd," Oscar explained patiently.

"Oh," Hayden responded. "Um… no."

At this Jessica let out a loud snort of derision, and then turned and stalked from the room. Dana hurried after her, shouting all sorts of terrible threats, and Peter and Oscar stood awkwardly around the coffee table with the three Wallances until Jessica skulked back into the room a few moments later. She was scowling even harder now, and Hayden was amazed. He had never known a child to behave like this, male or female. Jessica Venkman quite obviously possessed a wilful defiance, and Hayden couldn't help admiring it – perhaps deep down he even envied it. He would never dare to treat his own parents like this, and certainly not in the presence of guests.

"What are you looking at?" Jessica suddenly snapped, and Hayden was gripped with terror when he realised that she was talking to him.

"Jess, cut that out," cautioned Peter.

Just for a moment, Jessica looked fazed. Though Hayden didn't know it, she was rarely chastised by her father. However she soon composed herself and fixed Peter with a glare of defiance. There followed a fairly lengthy staring contest, until Jessica finally gave in and said with an exaggerated sigh, "What do you want to do?"

Hayden had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do, and he suspected that his brother knew no better. They were silent for a few moments, Hayden desperately seeking an answer to Jessica's question before she started yelling at him again.

"Don't you _talk_?" Jessica suddenly shouted.

Barely a second had passed before Dana swept in through the doorway, grabbed Jessica's wrist and literally wrestled her daughter out of the room. Hayden was still stunned. That girl was just so rude, so coarse and unladylike… and so _fascinating_!

"Sorry about that," Peter smiled weakly. "To tell you the truth she's – uh – a little too possessive of Oscar. She doesn't like the thought of sharing him."

"Yeah, she's not usually that bad," added Oscar.

A simple "Hmm" was Andre's only comment on the matter, but Hayden could tell that his father probably wanted to say a lot more about that girl. God forbid that Emilia should ever behave like that… or dress like that… or have any desire to play competitive sports. All his life Hayden had been given very strict instructions on the proper way to look and behave. It had always struck him how far removed Oscar was from this code of conduct, and now it seemed that his sister was even worse. Even at five years old Hayden realised that their two families must do things _very_ differently.

x x x

**February 2005: Manhattan, New York**

"_Hold me, kiss me, tease me, run your fingers through my hair;_

_Do anything you want, but honey – just don't touch me there…"_

"Danny." Oscar Wallance looked up from the sheet of lyrics he was holding and fixed his friend Danny Hart with a stern parent-like look. "This is absolutely filthy."

"Oh, yeah, you're right – not like the other twenty-odd songs we've written," retorted Danny. "Cos normally we write Julie Andrews material."

Oscar was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, the headboard and a massive Avril Lavigne poster on his left and the open doorway to his right. He was very nearly seventeen, dressed typically in baggy jeans and a black hoodie. The acoustic guitar waiting patiently at his side was no affectation, for Oscar was a talented musician and fronted Mood Slime: the band he and Danny comprised with two other friends. He was the obvious choice for front man not only for his uncanny talent and (at least by some testimony) beautiful voice, but also because he had the look: dark hair tied into a ponytail, brilliant blue eyes and a charismatic smile.

Danny, the band's drummer, sat on the swivel chair at the desk across the room, twiddling a ballpoint pen between his fingers while he waited for inspiration to strike. He and Oscar quite frequently spent the hours immediately after school like this, Danny composing lyrics to Oscar's original melodies and vice-versa. When Oscar moved to New York from Los Angeles with his family a little over three years ago, he had been grateful to befriend a lyricist and consequently form the band – albeit that he had found Danny a little intimidating to start with. Danny had been fourteen at the time: it was days after he started wearing mascara and decided to stick with the bleached-blond spiked hairstyle.

"Maybe we should start doing something a bit different," reasoned Oscar. "To be honest, Dan, I'm getting kinda sick of singing about all _your_ weird-ass problems. Couldn't we do something a little bit nicer?"

"_Nicer_?" echoed Danny. "What do you mean 'nicer'? Like sentimental love songs or something? I _knew_ it was a bad idea for you to start seeing that Jackson girl."

Oscar threw a pillow at him and laughed. "Shut up. There's nothing wrong with wanting to write a song for my girlfriend. But if I composed something for AJ and trusted you with the lyrics, I _know_ you'd just turn it into something sick."

"You're right, I would," Danny had to agree. "Why don't you write the lyrics yourself?"

"Because I _can't_," Oscar answered at once. "You know me, Danny – I'm stupid. I can sing and I can play a couple of instruments and I can compose a melody when I'm in the right frame of mind, but that's all I can do."

"That's just not true. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Then how do you explain my grades this year?"

"You're not stupid," Danny insisted, crossing the room to join Oscar on the bed. "You just don't try if it isn't something you care about. That's why you can't rewrite _'Macbeth'_ in your own words or any of the other stupid shit they make us do at school – but I'll bet you could write a song all by yourself if you really wanted to."

"I'm going to confess something," Oscar said evenly. "I tried to write some lyrics last year, just to see if I could. It was the stupidest shit I've ever read."

"But it's so _easy_!" persisted Danny. "Writing lyrics is just rhyming your emotions."

"Rhyming my emotions, huh?"

"Yeah."

"And that's easy?"

"Of course. You know how you feel."

"Yeah."

"And you know rhyming words. Easy!"

The phone started ringing. Danny looked expectantly at Oscar, who just shrugged and said, "Jess'll get it. So come on then – help me out here. Give me an example."

"Oh you really are hopeless," sighed Danny, just as the phone stopped ringing. "Well, she'll appreciate it more if the song has her name in it. What rhymes with Amy?"

Oscar looked blank for a moment, and then answered, "Nothing."

"Oh – you're not even trying!" snapped Danny. "Of _course_ something rhymes with Amy!"

"What?"

"Blamy."

"Huh?"

"Blame. Me," explained Danny. "Blamy. You know: _I got the hots for Amy and nobody can blamy_… Or something like that anyway."

"You make it seem so _easy_!" Oscar cried exasperatedly.

"And I didn't even think that was very good."

They were interrupted when Jessica appeared in the open doorway and announced, in scathing tones, "Your stepmother is on the phone, Oscar."

"Really?" asked Oscar, grinning at her as he got to his feet. "Are you ears still ringing?"

It wasn't much of an exaggeration: it was entirely likely that anybody who spoke to Kate Wallance over the phone would suffer some discomfort. She spoke in a clipped English accent that was high-pitched _very _loud. Kate had a tendency to shout, which made her seem extremely enthusiastic about _everything_.

"Hi Kate," Oscar said pleasantly, once he had the phone in his hand. "How are you?"

"Fabulous, darling – how are you?"

"Ok."

"Good. Well darling, we'll be arriving at JFK at ten o'clock tomorrow – always a novelty to go back in time."

Oscar laughed politely.

"Would it be all right if we took you out to lunch?" asked Kate. "The children won't want to do anything too taxing, but they're dying to see you."

"What, all of them?" Oscar asked, surprised.

"Well Emi's always pleased to see you, and Hayden's desperate," Kate answered chirpily. "He's – um – going through a bit of a phase, so you might find him changed. I thought I'd better warn you."

"Right, thanks," Oscar said distractedly, suddenly remembering a phone conversation he'd had with Hayden about a week before Christmas that had made him think perhaps the kid was growing up a bit.

"It'll be lovely to see you again," Kate went on chattily. "If she wouldn't mind, you might even let us meet your girlfriend."

"_Girlfriend_?" echoed Oscar. She suddenly had his full attention again. "How do _you_ know I have a girlfriend?"

"Um… well," Kate said hesitantly, "Andre heard about her from Val."

"WHAT?"

"Is something wrong, darling?"

"Ah Kate, I'm sorry, it's not your fault," Oscar sighed wearily, massaging his forehead with his free hand. "Just don't worry about it, ok? I'll see you tomorrow."

He hung up, leaving Kate thoroughly puzzled in her London home. Oscar then paced the length of the hallway for about a minute, his fingers flexing robotically with the desire to hit something. Then, once he had gathered his thoughts, he snatched up the phone and hit number two on the speed-dial.

Upstairs, meanwhile, Danny and Jessica had struck up a conversation about Oscar's London family. Well, to be more accurate Jessica had struck up the conversation, and it seemed to be one of those ones where she did most of the talking.

"Have you _met_ them?" she asked loudly, gesticulating widely as she paced the room.

"Once or twice," Danny answered calmly, watching her from the bed.

"Don't you just _hate_ them?"

"Kate seems nice. The little girl is cute. Andre didn't talk much. And the boys seemed rather…"

"Dead?" suggested Jessica.

"Yes," agreed Danny, "in a snooty kinda way."

Suddenly they heard Oscar's voice yelling quite distinctly down in the hallway, and they both turned their heads instinctively in the direction of the staircase.

"How long has this been going on, huh?" Oscar's incensed tones ranted angrily. "It's one thing that you still _like_ him after what he did to me and Mom, but I can't believe you would actually call him and _tell_ him everything that's going on in my life! If I don't tell him something it's because I don't want him to know! It's nothing to do with you _or_ him!"

"I don't think he's talking to Kate anymore," ventured Danny.

"Well who the hell is it?" wondered Jessica.

She made her way out of the room and towards the stairs. Danny followed, and they reached the bottom of the stairs in the same moment that the front door opened and Peter Venkman walked in. Coincidentally it was also at this moment that Oscar yelled "F--- YOU!" and slammed the phone down. Then his face instantly clouded over with guilt. He clutched the top of his head in anguish and cried despairingly, "Oh God, I can't believe I did that!"

"Who was it?" Peter asked calmly.

"Grandma."

Jessica gasped loudly, absolutely horrified. Even _she_ wouldn't dare!

"Well what the hell did you do that for?" demanded Peter.

"She deserved it," Oscar fairly spat, apparently forgetting his remorse. "Did you know that she and Andre still talk on the phone?"

"WHAT?" exclaimed Jessica. "The bitch!"

"Don't you start," Danny murmured next to her ear.

"_And_ she tells Andre things about me!" Oscar ranted on. "Can you _believe _that? She told him about Amy!"

"Why wouldn't you want him to know about Amy?" asked Danny.

Oscar turned round, looking surprised, apparently having forgotten that his friend was there. Then his eyes narrowed as he exclaimed, "Because it's none of his f---ing business, Danny!"

"Oscar – let's watch the language, huh?" ventured Peter.

"I'm gonna kill her!" yelled Oscar, speaking more to himself now than to anybody else. "I'm gonna f---ing kill her!"

"Ok honey, calm down," Danny said soothingly. He jumped the last two steps and then led Oscar into the sitting room by the arm. "Sit down and take some deep breaths. That's it. Now tell me _exactly _why you're so upset."

"Because my grandmother is a traitor," snapped Oscar. "It all makes sense now. Andre stopped asking me questions years ago – I thought he'd finally realised that if I want him to know something I'll tell him. But now it turns out he's just been calling up Grandma for the answers!"

"Yes, that _is _pretty low," Danny agreed, in the same calming tones.

"I mean – what else has she told him?"

"Well she doesn't know _that_ many of your secrets, does she?"

"No," Oscar admitted. "I just… I just _really_ didn't want him to know about AJ."

"Well why not?" Danny asked reasonably.

"Why not?" echoed Oscar. "_Why not_? I don't want AJ to meet him because I'm ashamed of him! The guy is an absolute jerk and he isn't even _slightly_ cool! _That's _my dad," and he nodded towards where Peter was trying to pacify Jessica out in the hallway (though Oscar didn't know it, she was offering to give Valerie Barrett a piece of her mind). "Andre… is just… something I'd rather keep to myself."

"Fair enough," reasoned Danny, inadvertently placing a hand on Oscar's knee to reassure him.

"Danny…"

"Sorry." He snatched his hand away. "Well Amy doesn't have to meet Andre just because he knows she exists. Pretend she's busy all week."

"I should ask her if she wants to meet them," Oscar mumbled bitterly. "Otherwise I'm a deceitful little prick."

"But she'll probably agree to meet them," argued Danny.

"Exactly."

"Oh Oscar… you're too good."

"What am I gonna do about Grandma?" fretted Oscar. "She's going to call Mom and tell her I said to go f--- herself!"

"In fairness that's not exactly what you said," Danny tried to reassure him. "And there's just a chance your mom might understand. She doesn't like Andre much either, remember."

"You're right," agreed Oscar. "Still, she's always telling me to watch my mouth. And when would be a good time to tell her that she's no longer allowed to tell Grandma anything about me?"

"Probably after she's calmed down."

"Right. You're right. Sometime tomorrow, I guess."

"Before or after the stiffs arrive?"

"It's not gonna be a good day."

x x x

Oscar decided that the best way to start the day would probably be to meet his girlfriend somewhere – that might cheer things up a bit. He called her on the Friday night and suggested McDonald's at nine o'clock the following morning – an hour before the Wallances' flight was due at JFK.

Oscar arrived at the McDonald's first and ordered something from the breakfast menu – which, by the way, he thought was utterly ridiculous. What idiot had given him or herself the right to decide that people shouldn't eat burgers and fries first thing in the morning? Oh well – it scarcely mattered in the great scheme of things. Oscar would be seeing Amy soon. That would be good. Then he would be seeing the Wallances. That could be interesting. After that he didn't know _what_ was going to happen.

Amy Jackson was the sixth child of seven; to be exact she had four older brothers, an older sister and a younger brother. One of the older brothers in particular hadn't exactly made things easy for Oscar and Amy, and her parents weren't too keen on their younger daughter seeing someone almost two years older than she was – but at least after seven months together they were allowed to meet in McDonald's un-chaperoned.

Amy was tall for her fifteen years and fairly thin, with skin the colour of milk chocolate. She had a snub nose, a wide smile, dark eyes and shoulder-length sleek black hair that she usually wore in a high ponytail. She always dressed modestly, particularly in the winter as it was now, and that morning she wore white jeans and a baby-pink sweatshirt.

"Hey," Oscar smiled warmly, standing up to kiss her on the cheek. "And who do you think is going to get blamed for this?"

"I'll tell them it was nothing to do with you," Amy assured him, smiling as he ran his fingers over the candyfloss-pink streak in the hair falling over her left temple, deliberately left out of the ponytail. "None of the family have seen it yet. I got up and did it while they were all still asleep and then got the hell outta there."

"Is it permanent?" asked Oscar.

"Oh yes."

"Why'd you do it?"

"I just felt like a change, I suppose," Amy shrugged dismissively, "and then there was the bottle of dye that my sister seemed to think I would like for my birthday. And despite what I may tell my family I don't hold you _entirely_ blameless. Next to you and your friends I've been feeling kinda plain."

"Plain?" echoed Oscar. "AJ, how many times do I have to tell you you're beautiful?"

"Yeah, well…" Amy mumbled bashfully. "So do you like it?"

"Quite honestly, Amy, it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen," Oscar smiled suavely.

"Wow – that _is_ high praise from somebody who used to live in LA."

"A lot of the girls in LA seemed to me very fake. There's nothing sexy about that."

"So are you ok?" asked Amy, reaching across the table and taking his hand. "Isn't it today that your father and his family are arriving?"

Oscar nodded mutely, watching her dark thumb as it traced small circles on the back of his ashen hand.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know. Kinda nervous and maybe a little bit curious. Um… AJ… my stepmother would like to meet you."

"Really?" asked Amy. "When? After all you talk about the Wallances and your sister rants about them I've been curious to meet them."

"You want to, then?" Oscar asked guardedly.

"Yeah, you bet."

"You won't like Andre," cautioned Oscar. "And he probably won't like you because he doesn't approve of any of my choices. And Kate will deafen you – and you can smell her perfume a mile off. You might like my little half-sister, though. My youngest half-brother has absolutely no personality – and the older one used to be the same but now I don't know _what_ to expect from him – I think he's going through some kind of pubescent mental change."

"Well now I'm even more curious," Amy smiled at him.

"What about tomorrow during the day?" suggested Oscar. "You won't want to meet them in the middle of the week because of school, and they're going home next Saturday morning."

"Tomorrow's fine," agreed Amy. "Look – don't worry, ok? What's the worst that can happen? So maybe I hate them and they hate me. Will it really make any difference to us?"

"I hope not."

"It won't."

She leaned across the table and kissed him. They didn't kiss very often because Amy was still quite new to the dating game, and Oscar had agreed from the outset to take things slowly. But sometimes it just felt right to kiss – like now. Oscar could have stayed like that all day, but the alarm on his digital watch interrupted them to remind him that he needed to get to the airport.

"If I don't go and meet them they'll go to my house and that's never good," Oscar explained apologetically. "I'll call you later, ok? And make sure your family all know I knew nothing about you dyeing your hair."

x x x

Even in a crowded airport Kate Wallance's voice could be heard a mile off. When Oscar heard, "Emi darling, don't wander off!" in drilling, high-pitched tones he swung round in the direction of the sound and there they were: neat and fair and smartly dressed and Andre's ideal family. Kate was thin, pretty, blond and somehow didn't seem to have aged at all since Oscar first met her fourteen years ago. Emilia, just seven, was essentially a miniature of her mother. She had long blond corkscrew curls, bright blue eyes and a well-practised smile. From where Oscar stood it looked as though Kate was dragging her daughter along by the wrist, though carefully enough that she didn't crease the hideously pretty pink dress.

Hayden and Lars both resembled their father facially, though they had Kate's fine blond hair. Lars, now almost ten, hadn't changed a bit since the last time Oscar saw him. He still had the same bowl haircut, conservative style of dress and haughty expression. Jessica termed the three Wallance kids "the mini-stiffs" (Andre had been Christened "the stiff" by Peter some time ago – before either of them had married Dana), and in Lars's case this would seem to be justified.

As Oscar had suspected, the only Wallance to have changed at all was Hayden. He had grown his hair out a little so that it fell close to his brilliant blue eyes, although traces of the dreaded bowl cut still remained. He was wearing a plain grey sweater and blue jeans – Kate must have put her foot down (something she did quite frequently) to persuade Andre to let this happen. Oscar imagined that he had been held up as an example: "Do you want to alienate Hayden like you've already done with Oscar?" If it wasn't for Kate – and as it transpired Dana's mother – Oscar wouldn't have nearly as much contact with his biological father as he did.

"Are you ok, buddy?" Oscar asked anxiously as Hayden approached, looking a little pasty-faced.

"I think I'm afraid of heights," Hayden answered in a well-spoken English accent, managing a small smile – Oscar's first from him.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Oscar, laughing slightly when he saw that his half-brother was pretty much all right. "This has never happened before."

"I've never sat by the window before."

"Well, on the way back just close your eyes and pretend you're in a car. Oh – hi Kate," as Oscar's stepmother took him into a crushing embrace and slapped a kiss onto his cheek.

"Hello darling!" exclaimed Kate. "You look nice."

"Thanks. So do you. Hi kids." Oscar shook hands with Lars (who had long ago been instilled with Andre's code of propriety – _men shake hands_) and then crouched down to hug Emilia. Then he looked up and said stiffly, through a weak smile, "Hi Andre."

"Hello Oscar."

"So what do you want to do now?" asked Oscar. "It's not _nearly_ lunchtime."

"For us lunchtime should have been two hours ago," Hayden smiled dryly. "But Mum wouldn't let us have more than a sandwich because we're eating with you."

"Well let's go to your hotel and see if we can get something there," suggested Oscar, who wanted more than anything to solve the problem of what to do with these people. "Are you ok to eat, Hayd?"

"I'm sure I'll be fine by the time we get there," Hayden answered bravely.

"Do you need to throw up before we go?" Oscar asked with mock-solemnity in his voice, and Andre looked comically shocked.

"That's ok," Hayden assured him. "If I was going to throw up I would have done it on the plane."

x x x

To his dismay, Oscar had to sit around in the hotel bar with the Wallances for almost two hours before the damn staff started serving lunch. Though he _really_ didn't mean to, he found himself telling them everything about his life. He told them about school and about Mood Slime gigs, and even about what the other members of his family were up to. While he was talking about the gaggle of third grade girls that Jessica coached in soccer on Wednesday lunchtimes, it didn't escape Oscar's notice that he was now guilty of the exact same crime he had so recently chastised his grandmother for. But he managed to convince himself that this was different. It was a complete accident that he was saying all of this, but when he'd called Valerie Barrett the day before she had admitted to deliberately sustaining her contact with her ex-son-in-law.

"I play football – sorry – soccer now," announced Hayden, who had said more to Oscar in the last hour than he had probably in the whole of the rest of his life. "But only because they make us do it at school. It's ok – better than cricket – but I prefer rugby."

"Are you sure you _have_ to play rugby at school?" Andre suddenly asked.

"Yes Dad," Hayden answered patiently, in the tones of one who has had to answer the same question a lot more than once. "It's on the silly bus."

"The what?" asked Oscar, surprised by and even a little proud of his half-brother's brand new sense of humour.

"The syllabus," explained Hayden. "At school the boys have to play football, rugby and cricket because it's on the syllabus."

"The boys, huh?" queried Oscar. "What about the girls?"

"Netball, hockey and – I don't know – some kind of gymnastics," Hayden told him.

"Differentiating by gender," remarked Oscar. "Jess wouldn't stand for that – she'd probably have been kicked out of there by now."

"Well she wouldn't be able to play _soccer_ there," said Hayden, imitating Jessica's American twang. "And I'd love to see what she'd make of the uniform. Will we be seeing her this week?"

"You don't want to see her, do you?" Oscar asked confusedly.

"Not especially," lied Hayden. "But if we _are_ going to see her I'd like to have some warning."

"So Oscar," piped up Kate. "Tell us about your girlfriend. What's her name?"

"Amy," Oscar answered guardedly.

"Amy what?" Kate demanded loudly.

"Jackson."

"What's she like?"

"She's like a fifteen-year-old girl," Oscar shrugged dismissively. "She's said she'll meet you tomorrow if you want."

"Oh – lovely!" exclaimed Kate. "We'll treat her to lunch."

"Mum's one idea for entertaining people is to buy them a meal," Hayden smiled dryly. "What do you normally do on weekends?"

"I don't know – I usually just chill out," replied Oscar, surprised by the question. "Jess has a soccer match tomorrow morning so I'll have to watch that."

"Can I go?" asked Hayden, making sure to blurt out the words before he could stop himself.

"Um… sure," Oscar answered, thoroughly baffled by the request. "We can swing by here on the way and pick you up – if that's ok with your mom and dad?"

"Of course you can go if you want to, darling," Kate smiled widely at Hayden.

"But…" began Andre.

"What?" snapped Kate. "We don't have any plans, darling. Hayden would get bored hanging around here all morning – it'll do him good to get out."

"It's not rugby, Dad," added Hayden, fixing his father with a look that Oscar had never before seen on a Wallance save for himself. "And I'll only be watching."

"Fine," muttered Andre, wavering under the stern gazes of Kate, Hayden and Oscar.

Finally a suited usher turned up and they were escorted through to the dining room. Oscar hung back with Hayden and asked, in a furtive whisper, "Why do you want to watch my sister playing soccer?"

"Well it's better than hanging around here," Hayden shrugged dismissively. "And anyway, I wanted to get you on your own."

"What for?"

"I need some advice."

"Advice you can't ask either of your parents for?"

"Yeah – that kind of advice," Hayden smiled dryly.

"Right." Oscar nodded his understanding. "I'll do my best."

x x x

When Oscar called the Jackson household that afternoon, he was thoroughly disheartened to hear Casey's voice on the other end of the line. Casey Jackson was seventeen, and the closest sibling in age to Amy. He was also the closest sibling to Amy emotionally until about seven months ago, since which time his attitude to his younger sister's choice of boyfriend had alienated her almost totally.

"H-hi Casey," Oscar stammered nervously. "Is AJ there?"

"Oh yes," Casey almost spat. "AJ's _here_ all right. Just what the hell do you think you're doing making her look like that?"

"WHAT?" exclaimed Oscar, horrified. "What do you think – that I forced her to do it at gunpoint? Or perhaps I held her down and did it myself! I knew nothing about it!"

"Oh no?" challenged Casey. "Then how do you know what I'm talking about?"

"I saw her this morning."

"Oh you did, did you? Well her hair didn't look like that last night! And what if you _do _know nothing about it? She only did it to please you, you cradle-robbing perv."

"It's just a pink streak in her hair, Casey."

"Ha – sure, _today_ it's just a pink streak in her hair… I want you to finish it with her."

"Why should it matter to me what _you _want?" demanded Oscar, beginning to get angry. In a way it was good of Casey to care about his sister, but this was ridiculous.

"My sister is fifteen," snapped Casey. "She doesn't understand what you - "

He was interrupted by a scuffling noise on the line, and a moment later Oscar heard Amy's welcome voice: "Oscar?"

"Yeah, it's me. Hi."

"Casey, will you _piss off_?" hissed Amy. Then she said to Oscar, in much more genial tones, "Did you hear Garrett and Jo got engaged?"

Amy had just heard the news from her oldest brother Roland, who worked as a Ghostbuster alongside Garrett Miller. They worked with Peter too, of course, and so Oscar was surprised not to have heard the news from him. He must not know yet.

"No, I hadn't heard that," he told Amy. "That's brilliant news. When did it happen?"

"Last week sometime," answered Amy. "The morning after Valentine's Day, I think. I'm so pleased – I really like Jo."

"Yeah, me too. So… I take it you haven't patched things up with Casey."

"No I haven't. And I won't until he at least accepts that you and I are an item."

"I feel terrible," Oscar sighed despondently.

"Why?" Amy demanded sharply. "It's _his_ fault. Roland never liked any of Tara's boyfriends but he never acted like this."

"But I'm responsible," argued Oscar.

"Well, so what?" shrugged Amy. "It's not like he's my only brother."

"Yeah, but he was the special one."

"Well he can't be _that _special or he wouldn't be – ah, look," Amy cut herself off. "I know you didn't call to talk about my relationship with my brother. Do we have a date with the Wallances?"

"Yeah. Lunch tomorrow," replied Oscar. "We'll come and pick you up after Jess's soccer match."

"Lunch tomorrow, huh? That's original. How was lunch today?"

"A little awkward actually," Oscar smiled dryly. "There's always friction between Andre and me, and now we've got Hayden adding to it as well. We exchanged late Christmas presents – Andre confirmed once again that he doesn't know me _at all_."

"What was it?" Amy asked sympathetically.

"Cute picture frames."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I wish I was. And I gave the kids their birthday presents because Emi's already had hers and the boys' birthdays are coming up soon," Oscar went on. "Andre said he bought me a birthday present for next month but he lost it."

"Well that's a pretty shitty thing to do," remarked Amy.

"Oh, there's more," Oscar smiled ironically. "Kate made a cake for me but Andre managed to destroy it while transporting it to the airport. She was really pissed at him – though I don't know how she expected it to survive the flight."

"I'm sorry, babe. So anyway, what should I wear tomorrow?" asked Amy. "Is it gonna be like a formal thing? You make them sound kinda swish."

"They aren't just _kinda_ swish – they _are _swish," Oscar told her emphatically. "And don't worry about dressing up – Hayden and I will be wearing jeans and thick sweaters from watching the soccer."

"Hayden's watching the soccer?"

"Yeah. It's too weird."

"How did Jess take _that_ news?"

"I haven't told her yet."

"I'd get it over with if I were you. I know how she feels about Wallances. So I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," Amy finished chirpily.

"Yeah," Oscar said smilingly. "Bye."

Jessica liked Joanna Kendall – the future Mrs. Miller – as well as anybody else did. Maybe Oscar should deliver that news first. _"Garrett and Jo are engaged. I know – isn't it brilliant? Oh, by the way – Hayden's coming with us to your soccer match."_ As soon as he'd said that he could run out of the front door and stay out until well after Jessica would be in bed. Perfect.

Oscar's eyes slid down to the phone and rested on the speed-dial pad. He had heard nothing about yesterday's fight with his grandmother. Evidently either Val or Dana – depending on how far the news had travelled – was letting him stew. Taking a deep breath, Oscar picked up the phone and speed-dialled the Barretts.

"Grandma," he said urgently, as soon as Val picked up. "Have you told Mom what I said to you yesterday?"

"No dear," Val answered evenly.

"Right," Oscar nodded slowly. "Can I ask why not?"

"Well I'd like to say that I'm keeping quiet for your sake, Oscar, but it would be a lie," his grandmother told him curtly. "If I were to tell your mother that you swore at me she'd want to know why, and I suspect that if I told her she would be even angrier than you were."

"Angrier than I _am_, you mean," retorted Oscar. "I'm still pissed at you. Why do you do it?"

"Because he's your father, dear."

"Yes, in a way. But so what? I don't even like him."

"But that's because you don't know him," reasoned Val. "I'm just trying to help you get along better with him."

"You're trying to help me get along better with him behind my back? How does that work exactly?" Oscar asked sarcastically.

"Now be fair, darling. I've defended you and your family to him on more than one occasion. But he _is_ your father and he's… well… by rights it shouldn't be Peter that you're calling 'Dad'."

"Well who else am I supposed to call 'Dad'? The man who walked out on me when I was a baby? No way! I don't understand this. He walked out on _your daughter_!"

"I know, dear. But he's a good man at heart."

"Huh!" exclaimed Oscar.

"And I think it's lovely that you get along so well with Peter," Val went on. "But no matter how much you love him he just _isn't_ your father."

"He's still here, isn't he?" snapped Oscar. "And he loves me. What else matters?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Val returned primly.

"Look," Oscar sighed resignedly. "I'm sorry I swore at you yesterday. But I'm really not happy about this."

"I know, dear."

Really that was all that needed to be said. At that moment Oscar felt that his grandmother was undeserving even of a goodbye, so he simply hung up.

x x x

When Jessica heard that Hayden Wallance would be watching her soccer match, she embarked on a sulk (interspersed with dirty looks at her brother) that lasted through the night and well into Sunday morning. The situation grew worse when Oscar happened to mention the failed birthday cake that Kate had wanted to give him; for some reason it upset Dana so much that she couldn't even drive.

"That woman has got some nerve!" she fumed, sitting in the passenger seat beside Peter as he drove to the Wallances' hotel. "She doesn't even think I'm capable of making my own son a birthday cake!"

"Mom, she doesn't think that at all," Oscar said soothingly from his position on the backseat. "She was just trying to be nice."

Jessica was sitting beside him, her arms folded across her chest in a hostile gesture. She deliberately was not looking at her brother. To her mind he had betrayed her in a terrible way, and it was just so needless – there was not a single good reason for Hayden Wallance to attend her soccer match. Last thing she heard the stupid stuck-up brat didn't even _like_ soccer.

"I wish you'd cheer up, Jess," Peter announced suddenly, when Oscar had disappeared into the hotel to fetch Hayden. He turned round and leaned his arm on the back of the seat to look at his daughter. "Maybe we should look at this as an opportunity to get one over on the Wallances. I'll bet they couldn't play soccer if their lives depended on it."

As little as a day ago Dana would probably have derided her husband for encouraging Jessica in the petty Venkman/Wallance rivalry that she so disapproved of, if only for the sake of Oscar's happiness. This time however she folded her arms in a similar manner to her daughter and muttered bitterly, "Evidently we don't have what it takes to bake a cake."

"Why are you so pissed about that?" asked Jessica. "I don't like the woman, but she _was_ just trying to do something nice for Oscar."

"But _why_ was she?" Dana demanded sharply. "She's got two sons of her own – why does she want to steal mine as well?"

"Because Oscar's way better than her sons," Jessica answered at once, "if only because he has some personality."

"Those poor kids," sighed Dana, shaking her head despairingly. "Andre would happily have turned Oscar into a zombie like them, you know. I'm surprised Kate puts up with it. Andre thinks all marriages should be like his parents' i.e. that the man should do exactly what he wants, the woman should do as she's told and the children should be seen and not heard."

"Kate doesn't do as she's told, does she?" asked Jessica. "I thought it was more the other way round."

"Perhaps it is – perhaps he doesn't want to risk losing another wife," shrugged Dana. "It's not fair. I used to tell him I wouldn't be bossed around and now she's reaping the benefits. I'll bet he didn't make her wait six months before he'd get the kitchen done up so she could have an oven like he did with me. I'll bet Andre's told her I can't cook – that's why she doesn't think I can bake a cake!"

"Ok guys, you'd better stop this now," Peter murmured quietly, his mouth set rigidly in a fixed grin just in case Hayden could lip-read. "Here they come."

Oscar approached the car with Hayden, the latter saying something to his half-brother whilst smiling at the welcoming committee in the car. Peter and Dana were both smiling back fairly convincingly, but Jessica didn't even try.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine," Oscar was saying, as he pulled open the car door and sat down in the middle of the backseat beside his sister. "Just try not to laugh when they start talking about pants."

This made Hayden start laughing already as he buckled himself into the car next to Oscar. Jessica couldn't resist leaning forward to look at him (Oscar barring her view if she stayed back), just out of idle curiosity. In his turn Hayden gave Jessica a quick once-over. She was wearing a white-trimmed blue tracksuit and her wild curly hair was tied up in a ponytail. Hayden realised, not for the first time, just how much hairstyles reflected one's personality. Jessica was a firecracker with a mess of unruly curls; until recently Hayden himself had been a conservative schoolboy with straight short back and sides – and his brother still was, of course.

Peter started driving again as soon as Oscar and Hayden were settled. Hayden couldn't help noticing that Jessica had changed since he last saw her – and understandably so, as it had been quite a while. Now she was very nearly twelve, and looked every day of it. Even though she was sitting down it was obvious that she had grown a lot taller over the last few years – and she even had bumps in the sweater now. Hayden pulled his eyes away from those as soon as he noticed them, instead looking at Jessica's hostile face and flashing her a smile.

"Since when do you like soccer?" she asked coldly.

"I'm not even sure I _do_ like it yet," Hayden told her. "It's just one of those things everybody talks about, y'know? My friends all complain about standing around in the cold and the mud watching their brothers or whatever playing football, and I nod and smile and all that but I've never actually done it. Mum and Dad strongly discourage that kind of thing, but I thought it was about time I got some experience of real life. I'm trying to figure out for myself what I like," he went on, looking now at Oscar. "Mum and Dad like me to learn classical music and if I _must_ play a sport better it be cricket… but I'm not sure."

"You said yesterday that you didn't like cricket," Oscar remembered.

"That's right, I don't."

"You like rugby."

"Yeah."

"Rugby?" piped up Jessica. "Is that one of those ones where you stand around in white wool sweaters and nobody even runs?"

"No, you're thinking of cricket," Hayden told her. "Rugby's excellent. _Everybody_ runs _all the time_, and when you get the ball everyone jumps on top of you and tries to nick it. And it's no fun if you don't play in the mud. That's one of the reasons Dad doesn't like me playing it – you get _seriously_ muddy."

"Does your dad wash your clothes?" Jessica asked bluntly.

"No," answered Hayden.

"Well then he can't object, can he," Jessica told him matter-of-factly.

"We only play once a week at school," Hayden went on slowly. "But last week I was invited to join the school rugby team."

"Well done – that's great news," enthused Oscar.

"Yeah," said Hayden, "but it's not as simple as that. There's a permission slip."

"Your mom would sign that, wouldn't she?" asked Oscar.

"Well I just don't know," Hayden lamented, flicking a stray strand of fine blond hair out of his eye. "Trouble is it would mean giving up the clarinet. Clarinet lessons run on Thursdays after school – same as rugby practice."

"Well which would you rather do?" Oscar asked reasonably.

"Ha!" Hayden laughed dryly. "I'd far rather play rugby. I don't like the clarinet much – I'm not even good at it. And there's still the piano and the cello. I like them much better."

"Can't go wrong with the cello," Dana chimed in, being a cellist herself.

"And I was thinking," continued Hayden, "that I might want to learn some _other_ kind of music. I don't know what I like yet – we don't really get a chance to listen to anything other than classical music at home. But they can teach you to play pretty much anything you want at the school I'm going to in September. It's got a really top music programme – that's why Dad chose it."

They had arrived at Jessica's school now, and Peter was concentrating _very hard_ on parking the car to stop himself from betraying his feelings about what Hayden was saying: his feelings as a parent, a psychologist and a pioneer for basic human rights.

"We'll have a trawl through my CD collection before you go," offered Oscar. "And I expect my girlfriend would talk to you about this – there isn't a lot of music she doesn't like."

"But what about my dad?" asked Hayden, unbuckling his seatbelt. "He'd do his nut if I packed in the clarinet to take up rugby."

"Screw him," advised Jessica, pausing halfway out of the car just to say this. "If there's something you want to do, do it."

"I gotta agree with her, Hayd," put in Oscar, exiting the car after Hayden. "If giving up the clarinet and joining the rugby team will make you happy then do it. You still got two instruments – that should be enough to satisfy your dad. Just make sure you talk to your mom about it before Andre – or I'll talk to her if you like."

They were making their way over to the school playing fields by this time, their shoes already caked in mud. Hayden was really feeling the cold through his three sweaters – English winters weren't this bad. And yet he was enjoying himself already. He never did anything like this at home.

"I really ought to talk to Mum and Dad myself," he muttered, looking at his feet, the mere thought of making his proposal to his parents absolutely terrifying him.

"Well let me lay the groundwork," Oscar smiled at him. "Your mom absolutely loves you – all she really wants is for you to be happy."

"But what about Dad?" asked Hayden. "All _he_ really wants is for me to become as accomplished a musician as humanly possible. And… well… he doesn't like your stuff, and look how he treats you."

"He just doesn't know me," reasoned Oscar. "He's been with you your whole life – he loves you. And besides, you're not thinking of going as far outside of his expectations as I have."

"I s'pose," Hayden muttered doubtfully.

They arrived at the designated playing field for the match, and Jessica started making her way towards a group of boys in tracksuits who were doing stretches on the muddiest part of the field. Hayden caught up with her and asked, "Are you the only girl on the team?"

"Yeah," Jessica answered bitterly, pulling a face. "They don't often let girls on the team at the best of times, and this year I was the only one who even wanted to try out. It's terrible, isn't it? They say it's all even-handed around here but the teachers don't really encourage the girls to get into sports."

"Is that why you coach the third grade girls in soccer?" asked Hayden.

Jessica's green eyes narrowed. "Did Oscar tell you that?" she demanded sharply.

"Well my mum pretty much forced it out of him," Hayden smiled apologetically.

"Hmm," muttered Jessica, sparing him a cautioning look before jogging off towards her teammates.

"Good luck!" Hayden shouted after her.

While he stood shivering on the sidelines, Hayden thought of Jessica's words to him in the car: "If there's something you want to do, do it." Admirable sentiments, and she certainly seemed to take her own advice. Jessica wanted more female involvement in school sports, so she had assembled a group of third grade girls and started coaching them in soccer. What a fabulous thing to do. Of course it couldn't hurt that she had such a supportive family. They must be supportive or they wouldn't be standing in a muddy field in the middle of February for her.

"She's better than the boys," remarked Hayden, when the game was underway.

"I know. She's excellent – she beats the boys at everything. She's been kicking _my _ass at soccer since she was three," Oscar told him. "Dad used to kick a ball around the park with us when we were little – he was absolutely thrilled when she took it up as a hobby."

"But he didn't – you know – push it or anything?"

"Of course not. Mom and Dad have always let us do our own thing – they both just want us to be happy. And I know your parents want the same thing for you. Your dad just… I don't know… he seems to assume that what's right for him is automatically right for you. But I'll bet if you explain the whole rugby thing to him he'll understand."

"Ha," Hayden snorted derisively. "You think so? He doesn't understand why you'd rather play the guitar than the violin."

"Well… yeah, but this is different. Three instruments is too many anyway," Oscar said breezily. "You like two of them – he has no right to complain. Look – don't worry, ok? We'll both talk to Kate – we know she can talk Andre into anything."

"All right," Hayden agreed. "Thanks mate. It's nice – you know – to have a big brother sometimes. At home where I'm the oldest it feels like I have to be the responsible one – like I have to help out Lars and Em all the time, but sometimes I could really use an older brother to do it for _me_."

Oscar was ridiculously touched by this. He put a hand on Hayden's shoulder and said kindly, "You know you can always call me if you want to talk about anything."

"Yeah," smiled Hayden, watching fixedly as Jessica scored her second goal of the morning. "I know."

To Hayden Wallance, Jessica Venkman became more and more interesting by the minute. Altogether she scored three of the five goals that won the match against the rival school's pathetic score of one. And she was obviously enjoying herself. Hayden felt sure that if he joined the school rugby team, any enjoyment he got from it would be tainted by the knowledge that certainly his father and possibly his mother would be quietly disapproving.

"I'd love to see what you'd make of our school," he said to Jessica, once she had changed out of her muddy tracksuit into jeans and a sweater and they were on the road again. "The girls don't play soccer _at all_."

"Why the hell not?" Jessica demanded sharply.

"I dunno – it's just a very old-fashioned school," shrugged Hayden. "We still get called by our surnames there. I'm known as _Wallance Major_," he added scathingly.

"You're not!" laughed Jessica. "And is your brother Wallance Minor?"

"Yes."

"What about your sister?"

"Emilia. Girls get called by first names."

"Well _that's_ not fair," remarked Jessica.

"It's ok – they get the raw deal really," shrugged Hayden. "They have to do housewifely stuff like sewing while we go off and make birdhouses or whatever. The only real compensation is that they get to play hockey and we don't."

"Hockey is _so_ awesome. You all get to hit each other with massive wooden sticks."

"You play hockey too?"

"Only sometimes."

"I think you'd enjoy rugby. I'll have to teach you sometime."

"It'll be good practice for you, Hayden, if you want to join the team," cut in Oscar, who had been silent for quite a while, astonished that his half-brother and -sister had managed to sustain a civil conversation since they left the school. He was so astounded, in fact, that he had only just recovered the power of speech.

"You'd better tell your parents _today _that's what you want to do," Jessica said menacingly to Hayden. "Because if you don't I'll tell them myself."

"I don't see any reason why they should object," Oscar added calmly. "Surely it'd only be until the summer anyway."

"Why would it only be until the summer?" Jessica wanted to know.

"Because I won't be there after the summer," Hayden explained patiently. "I start secondary school in September."

"Really?" asked Jessica. "I start high school in September."

"Here we are," Peter suddenly announced, bringing the car to a smooth stop outside the hotel. "It was nice seeing you, Hayden."

"Thanks for taking me with you," Hayden smiled politely, as he climbed out of the car. "Enjoy your celebratory pizza."

"Don't worry – I will," returned Jessica, peering over Oscar as he kissed his mother goodbye. "Enjoy your… whatever it is you're doing."

Oscar inadvertently let out a dry laugh as he climbed out of the car. He didn't anticipate enjoying himself very much at all. Andre was going to meet his girlfriend. The prospect of it gave him a very ominous feeling.

"Well," said Dana, once they'd left the hotel behind and were on their way to Pizza Hut. "What's happened to _him_?"

"I guess he got that personality transplant I've been recommending," Jessica answered simply.

Quite suddenly Dana changed the subject. "I hope Oscar will be ok," she lamented. "I'm not sure how well Andre will react to Amy."

"Why?" demanded Jessica. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing, sweetheart," Dana replied soberly. "But we all know that there are a few things wrong with Andre."

x x x

Watching from the back of the hired limo as Amy Jackson answered the door to Oscar, Andre couldn't help but let out a small gasp of surprise.

"What is it, darling?" Kate asked sharply.

"Nothing," murmured Andre, not taking his eyes off the girl currently hugging his oldest son on her doorstep.

"Must be the pink streak in her hair he doesn't like," Hayden said to his mother. "Or else it's the brown streak in her hands and face."

Kate looked at her husband, fully expecting him to chastise their son straightaway for this slander. But he didn't. He remained speechless, not taking his eyes off the young couple as they approached the car hand-in-hand. Oscar caught Andre's eye and looked questioningly back at him, as though daring the man to find something wrong with this as well as every choice he made.

"Andre," Kate hissed furtively. "I _hope_ you don't have a problem with it."

Again Andre didn't answer. Hayden pursed up his lips and said nothing, not wanting to betray the extreme disappointment that he felt in his father right now. He shuffled along the seat towards his brother and sister to make room and managed to switch on a smile when Oscar and Amy got into the car. The tension was building up already. The limo started up, the driver having been given his instructions previously, and Oscar did the introductions. He and Kate both tried to keep the tone light-hearted, but they were feeling the tension and so was Amy. Oscar was suddenly reminded of a conversation he had with his grandmother just before Christmas:

"…_she's a great girl."_

"_She sounds it. What on earth makes you think we won't like her?"_

"_She's black."_

After a long pause:_ "Why on earth should that matter to me?"_

Oscar had been so sure that it _would_ matter to her. Val had greeted the news with one of her loaded silences, which meant that she was at least surprised. But perhaps that was all she'd been – perhaps it really _didn't_ matter to her that her grandson was seeing a black girl. If that was the case, he probably owed her an apology.

But maybe Amy's colour was a problem for Andre. Oscar felt pretty stupid for not anticipating the possibility. It had never occurred to him – but of course Andre could find fault with any decision Oscar made. After all, this was a guy who spent all of his time around middle-class white men and sent his children to a school with not a single black child on the roll. He disapproved strongly of his oldest son being close friends with a gay guy – why not also disapprove of him having a black girlfriend?

The atmosphere in the limo was growing increasingly hostile, and with it Kate's voice became increasingly loud as she tried to disguise the tension with the sheer volume of her questions. "Do you two go to school together?" she asked.

"No," Amy smiled politely. "Oscar goes somewhere a bit more upmarket than I do."

Oscar looked sharply at Andre to gauge his reaction. A black girl going to a school less "upmarket" (as she termed it) than his – scandalous! Why didn't he see this coming? _Danny was wrong, _Oscar thought bitterly to himself. _I really am stupid_.

During the lunch Amy said all of the things a parent would love to hear from his or her son's girlfriend. She answered truthfully yet modestly Kate's question about how she was getting on in school: "Somehow a lot of As and Bs seem to get on my report cards." Did she know what she wanted to do when she left school? "Ha – yeah, I'm going to be a rock star's girlfriend." _Laughter_. "Or failing that I'll probably go to college like my brothers and sister did – and in some cases still are. The careers advisor at school gave me a whole bunch of leaflets about training to become a doctor – but a couple of times I've actually thought about being a priest."

Oscar was surprised and even a little alarmed by this, but nobody noticed because Kate was very loud in insisting on hearing about Amy's faith. So Amy explained how she had shunned the Catholic faith of her family in favour of a congregation led by a young, inspiring and very dynamic female priest. "Quite honestly," Amy said with feeling, "I would love to be her someday."

This reminded Oscar of the moment he first knew that he wanted to be a rock musician. He must have been about three years old at the time, enjoying a rare visit to Peter in New York – he and Dana had lived alone in Los Angeles then. They'd been looking through Peter's music collection and playing snippets from the gramophone records whose covers had particularly struck the young Oscar.

"_The Rolling Stones – excellent choice,"_ Peter had smiled warmly at the boy. _"You ever heard any of their stuff?"_

"_No."_

"_You're missing out. Ok – let's tone it down a little bit, shall we? Your mom would kill me if I sustained any real damage to your hearing. Ok – this one's kinda nice."_

Peter had then selected _"Ruby Tuesday"_, one of the Stones' softer songs, and on hearing it Oscar would never be quite the same again. It had touched him in a way quite unfamiliar to the average three-year-old boy. He didn't understand exactly what he was feeling, but he knew one thing for sure: _I want to be that guy._

"_Who's that singing?"_ he had asked.

"_A guy called Mick Jagger."_

"_I wish I could do that."_

"_Well, who says you can't?"_

When the moment had passed, Oscar tuned back into the conversation. He quickly gathered that Amy was now discussing with Kate what she liked to read: "I'm a big fan of Nineteenth Century chick lit. Have you read _'The Tenant of Wildfell Hall'_?"

"I haven't actually," Kate answered, sounding slightly apologetic.

"Read it," Amy said firmly. "It's brilliant – best literary heroine I've come across."

"So is there anything you _aren't_ interested in?" Hayden chimed in. "You like music and movies and reading and church and you keep abreast of current affairs and politics and all that jazz… what else is there?"

"Sport," Oscar answered at once. "She's not that into sport. That's one of the things I like about her. I'm not that into sport either, but Jess and Peter are obsessed." _Oscar, you traitor, when did you start calling Dad by his first name in front of Andre?_ "And speaking of sport…"

"Now?" asked Hayden, his eyes widening in alarm when he picked up on the hint.

"It might as well be now," reasoned Oscar. "Go on – we're in a restaurant. You can't fight about it too loud."

"What's this?" Andre asked suspiciously.

Hayden took a deep breath, put down his knife and fork and then blurted it out: "I want to give up the clarinet and join the school rugby team."

This announcement was greeted with a stunned silence. Andre looked positively scandalised. Then, as ever, Kate was the first to speak: "Don't you like the clarinet, darling?"

"Not really, Mum," Hayden answered quietly.

"Sweetheart, you should have said," Kate smiled reassuringly at him. "Now then… rugby… well, there isn't a lot you can't do with a decent washing powder."

"You don't mind?" Hayden asked guardedly. There had to be more to it than this, surely.

"Why should I mind?" his mother returned breezily. "If that's what it takes to make you happy. I'm sorry you don't like the clarinet, darling. Is there another instrument you want to learn?"

This was so easy. Hayden felt incredibly relieved. "Well," he said, "there might be, but I don't know what it is yet. I thought I'd worry about that in the summer – you know, when school's finished – and until then I could concentrate on the rugby and the SATS exams. And the other two instruments," he added hastily.

"Now why was it so difficult to ask us that?" Kate smiled winningly at him. "You know your father and I just want you to be happy, darling. That goes for you too," she added, waving her loaded fork in the faces of the ever silent Lars and Emilia. "Are you two happy at the moment?"

They both nodded mutely.

"Good," their mother approved.

It seemed as though Kate was going to stop talking at long last, and so Andre took the opportunity to stick his oar in: "Why don't you like the clarinet, Hayden?"

"Andre!" hissed Kate.

"_Why_?" repeated Hayden. "Because I still find it difficult after three years and I don't even think it makes a particularly nice sound."

"Andre darling, if he doesn't like it he doesn't like it," snapped Kate. "He gave it three whole years – if it's not working out I think it's time to try something else."

"But Kate…"

"We'll talk about it later, darling. So what about you?" Kate asked Amy, the brilliant smile reappearing as soon as she took her eyes off her husband. "You like music – are you musical yourself?"

"Uh… well… maybe a little," Amy replied modestly.

"She's got incredible rhythm," Oscar cut in. "She puts me to shame when we're out dancing together. And it's too bad she's so shy about singing in public because she's got a beautiful voice."

"How could you possibly know?" demanded Amy. "You've never heard me sing."

"I have," Oscar contradicted her.

"You haven't."

"I _have_."

"When?"

"About a year ago," replied Oscar. "For some reason I was at your place – to see Casey, I suppose – and you were singing along to the radio."

"Oh no – really?" Amy asked in tones of near mortification. "What was I singing?"

"'_Anything but Ordinary'_ – and you sounded way better than Avril Lavigne," answered Oscar. "Why do you think I asked you out the next day? Someday I'm going to persuade you to sing with me at a gig."

"Well you can step on that idea _right now_," Amy told him sternly. "I don't sing in front of people. Or at least not knowingly," she added dryly.

Andre was fidgety for the rest of the meal, and Oscar noticed that Hayden was looking increasingly worried. He was obviously expecting some kind of reprimand for wanting to give up the clarinet in favour of rugby. Perhaps Andre would even go so far as to forbid it… but surely Kate wouldn't let him.

The time seemed to drag terribly, but at long last Oscar found himself kissing Amy goodbye at her front door. He could feel at least one pair of disapproving eyes on them from an upstairs window, and he knew that Andre was looking on in equal distaste. His so-called father had perturbed him too many times on this particular occasion. When the limo (hideous ostentatious thing that it was) pulled up outside the Venkman household, Oscar insisted that Andre walk him to the front door.

"Go on then," Oscar said invitingly, in a low voice. "What don't you like about her?"

"Who?"

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Eleanor Roosevelt. Who do you think?"

"You mean Amy?" Andre asked innocently. "Nothing. She's nice."

"She's more than nice," retorted Oscar. "She's a very special girl – but I could tell there was something you didn't like about her. I want to know what it was."

"It's not that I didn't like her," Andre said patronisingly. "I was just surprised that you would choose to go out with somebody who was…"

"Black?"

"Well… yes."

"Thought so. I never knew you were racist, Andre."

"Don't," snapped Andre. "Like I say, I was surprised. Our family… we don't do that."

"Do what – date black people? Honestly, I can't believe you sometimes."

"I didn't say _anything_. You were the one who brought it up."

"I suppose I did," Oscar relented. "But why the surprise? Didn't Grandma tell you?"

"That she was black? No. She just told me that she sounded like a nice girl."

"Oh." Well, giving Oscar's biography to Andre over the phone was still a rotten thing to do, but at least Valerie Barrett didn't appear to have issues with racism. "Look, I know you didn't say anything, but it was obvious. AJ's not stupid – she realised."

"I did my best, Oscar. I can't help the way I feel."

Oscar wondered exactly how Andre _did_ feel. Was he a closet racist, or was it just that he didn't condone mixed race relationships? Oscar knew that plenty of people felt that way without being racist per se. Of course he might not object to mixed race relationships in the general sense. It might just be that he'd rather his son wasn't in one.

"Forget it," Oscar shrugged dismissively. "It doesn't matter. If it's all right with you and Kate, I'd like Hayden to come and see me after I finish school tomorrow."

"Why?" asked Andre.

"I gave him some advice this morning and I'm not quite done," Oscar answered reasonably. "And I want him to tell me about the school rugby team and whatever else has been going on in his life. Andre… you wouldn't give him a hard time about that, would you? If it makes him happy…"

"Quite. Why should I give him a hard time?"

"Well you didn't look best pleased. And it wouldn't be the first time you've given one of your sons a hard time when he made a decision you wouldn't."

"I don't like it," Andre answered evenly. "And I might as well tell you that I _am_ going to try and persuade him to change his mind, same as I did with you when you started to get interested in rock music. But whatever he decides I'll respect it."

Oscar's eyebrows shot skyward. "Do you respect _my_ decision?" he asked, in challenging tones.

"Which one?"

"Any of them. My music? My friends? My girlfriend? Ah… forget it." Oscar turned away from Andre and reached for the front door. "It's not important. I guess I'll see you tomorrow. I'll come to the hotel after school for Hayden, ok?"

"Sure."

"Bye."

Oscar retreated into the house and made straight for his room. As much as he thought that Andre's opinion didn't matter to him, he was still angry. He told himself that he cared more for Amy's feelings than his own… and for Hayden's – poor kid. Oscar ran his eyes over his CD collection until he found the Green Day album he wanted. He fed it to his CD player, turned the volume up as high as the neighbours would endure it and then selected the track he wanted. There was something strangely pacifying about listening to a song that could almost have been written just for him:

"You come around every now and then,  
Your clothes are different but you're still the same;  
Why else would you come here?  
Scumbag on a mission.  
You're telling me that it's been a while,  
Shit-eating grin and a brand new lie;  
Somebody let you come here,  
Scumbag with permission.  
Never thought I'd see the likes of you around this place.  
What's the special occasion – did you run out of friends?"

Lying flat on his bed, Oscar listened very carefully to the lyrics and realised that very few of them actually rhymed. That was ok – plenty of songs didn't rhyme. Evidently Oscar wasn't the only musician who had problems rhyming his emotions.

x x x

Whenever Oscar drove to school he always went home via Jessica's school and gave her a lift if the bus hadn't arrived yet. That Monday was one of those days. Jessica had been silently yet firmly willing the bus to arrive before her father's flash silver car, but it was not to be.

"What's with the look?" asked Oscar, as Jessica climbed into the car beside him.

"I don't want to see the mini-stiff again," his sister returned curtly.

"Why not? You were getting on ok yesterday." He pulled the car into gear and sped away from the school.

"That was just one morning. I have my limits, you know. Still, I suppose in a way it's better that I _am_ coming with you. I can make sure you don't tell him anything else about me."

"Ah," Oscar said awkwardly. "I'm really sorry about that, Jess. It was an accident. You oughtta try sitting down and having a conversation with Kate – she can extract your entire life story from you if she wants."

"You're weak," retorted Jessica. "You'd be terrible in a war if you got yourself captured – you'd give away everything."

"Just as well we aren't at war with the Wallances," Oscar returned pointedly.

"_I_ am," Jessica muttered grudgingly. "I just don't get it. Why do you still see them? You don't even _like _them."

"Ah Jess, I don't know," sighed Oscar. "They might come in handy if I ever need a kidney."

"You can have mine."

"And if it's no good?"

"You'll die. Andre wouldn't cross the Atlantic just for that, and he wouldn't pay for any of the mini-stiffs to do it either. He doesn't care enough about you."

"Even if I was dying?"

"I don't think he'd mind. He'd have no more ties with Mom and it'd save him a fortune on plane tickets."

"Jessica!"

"There's just no good reason for you to see them," snapped Jessica. "You've got a perfectly good dad at home, and one sibling should be enough for anyone."

"Too many at times," retorted Oscar. "I know you don't like them. You don't have to tell me."

He pulled up just a few yards from the hotel and climbed out of the car. Then he turned and looked expectantly at Jessica through the open door.

"I'm not going in there," Jessica told her brother firmly.

"Don't start that," snapped Oscar. "You could get yourself abducted or murdered or something waiting out here."

"I absolutely refuse to see any more Wallances than I have to."

"Get out of the car."

"No."

"Can't you act your age? Come on – get out before I drag you out."

The biggest arguments between Oscar and Jessica always had at least one Wallance at their root. Despite their closeness some of those arguments had got pretty ugly in the past, so Jessica went against her nature and decided to concede before this one got out of hand. As it turned out she didn't have to see too many Wallances; Hayden was waiting in the hotel lobby with Kate. This unfortunately meant that Jessica had to endure a loud hello and a crushing embrace as though being greeted by her favourite relative. Kate always seemed so pleased to see everybody – Jessica thought that the munificent hugs and kisses couldn't be real.

When they arrived home, Jessica disappeared into her bedroom to cheer herself up with _"Some Like It Hot"_ on DVD. Oscar took Hayden into his bedroom to listen to some of his CDs.

"We'll start with some sixties and seventies rock-and-roll and then get onto some heavy metal," Oscar stated in teacher-like tones. "By then AJ will probably have arrived with some of her stuff – her CD collection is a lot more diverse than mine, so I called her last night and she agreed to come over and help out. If she brings a wide enough selection you should be able to figure out what you like."

They were listening to Alice Cooper when Amy arrived. She was given a lift by her mother and told that somebody would come to pick her up in a couple of hours. Dana answered her knock at the door. They exchanged a polite hello and then Amy followed the music to Oscar's room (it was her first visit – they were both very nervous) complete with a selection of CDs in a trendy denim wallet.

"I really didn't want you to go to all this trouble," Hayden said meekly as he rifled through the CD selection, lying on his front on the bed between Oscar and Amy.

"It's fine," Amy assured him, staring around the room at Oscar's impressive poster collection and state-of-the-art sound system. "I even brought some of my Dad's jazz – I'll be amazed if you don't find something you like in that lot. There's punk, hip-hop, R&B, soul… quite a lot of black music actually. Your dad would _love_ that," she added dryly, though she regretted the words as soon as she said them.

Hayden looked sharply up at her, his brow furrowed and his blue eyes filled with anguish. "Look… my dad…" he faltered. "He didn't… he's not… none of us were expecting you to be… well… black, but that doesn't mean…"

"It's ok," Amy smiled reassuringly at him. "So he was surprised – a lot of people would be. My sister will only date black guys, and to tell you the truth I'm dreading introducing my grandmother to my white boyfriend. Sorry – it just slipped out."

"Actually you're right – he _wouldn't_ like it," Hayden muttered, half to himself, as he skim-read the track list on a soul compilation. "He wouldn't like me listening to any of this stuff – he thinks everything should be an education, which means we get classical music and the occasional opera. Did you know it's been statistically proven that listening to Mozart boosts kids' academic performance?"

"I did know that actually," replied Amy. "I don't believe a word of it, and anyway it doesn't matter. Good music changes the way you feel, not your grade point average. What's important is that you enjoy it."

This was one of the most profound things that Oscar had ever heard. Watching Amy's lips as she said it, he was suddenly seized with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. But obviously that would have to wait – he couldn't lean over Hayden to do it.

Hayden didn't like jazz much, but he preferred it to rap and he didn't enjoy the R&B track they played. Oscar thought he was too young to appreciate it. However Hayden was fascinated by the bizarre music of the eighties from a compilation belonging to Amy's brother Roland. Blue Oyster Cult's _"Don't Fear the Reaper"_ had him furrowing his brow in confusion, and then he asked to listen to it again and found that he liked it better the second time.

"Seems to me like you're a very spiritual music lover," remarked Oscar. "The weirder the better – you should learn to play indie guitar."

"I might even do that," Hayden smiled dryly. "I want to learn something a bit different – but not so different as to seem showy."

"So how are things with your dad?" suddenly asked Oscar. "Did he give you a hard time about the whole rugby thing?"

"He tried to change my mind."

"I thought he might."

"But I just told him it was definitely what I wanted to do, and then Mum snapped at him and sent me off to have a bath. So I think that one got the go-ahead."

Jessica emerged from her bedroom as he said this, still in hysterics from that infamous closing line: _"Nobody's perfect."_ On catching Hayden's words she spread herself imposingly across Oscar's doorway and asked sharply, "Are you talking about the rugby team?"

"Yes," Hayden answered simply.

"Good. I didn't want to have to do that for you."

"Ok if we take a break?" asked Hayden, looking in turn at Oscar and then Amy. "I _did_ say I'd teach Jess rugby – and I ought to get the practice in."

"Go ahead," Oscar smiled at him, quietly marvelling at the thought of Hayden and Jessica actually _playing_ together. "You know I could listen to music all day, but AJ's probably sick of it."

Hayden jumped off the bed and strolled towards Jessica. "Do you have a football?" he enquired politely.

"Do you _mean_ a football?" asked Jessica.

"Yes I _mean_ a football. Rugby balls are oval too."

"Really? I didn't know that. And of _course_ I've got a football – what kind of a stupid question is that?"

"This is too weird," Oscar confided to Amy, once Hayden and Jessica's conversation had faded to a buzz in the back yard down below. "It's almost worrying. His dad and her mom used to be best buddies, you know."

"Well _they're _not best buddies," reasoned Amy. "They're just two kids who happen to be in the same place at the same time with a foot-cum-rugby ball."

"Yeah…" Oscar muttered distractedly.

"Are you ok?" asked Amy.

"Well that depends. Are _you_ ok? I take it you noticed that Andre was a bit… well, you know…"

"Uh… yeah, I did," Amy confessed. "I'll admit I found it a little unsettling. That's never happened to me before. When I was six a couple of kids in the park said I looked like I was covered in poo…"

"You're kidding!" exclaimed Oscar, horrified.

"No, but they were just kids – and if that's the only racism I've ever encountered I can't really complain."

"But it's _not_ the only racism you've ever encountered," Oscar pointed out. "Not anymore. I'm really sorry about him, AJ. I never thought…"

"It's ok," Amy smiled reassuringly, placing her hand over his. "I meant what I said to Hayden – he couldn't help being surprised. And anyway, a lot of people are funny about mixed race relationships. One of Casey's friends was once beaten up for kissing a white girl – at least Andre made some kind of an effort."

Oscar didn't say anything. He was looking down at her hand. He really, _really_ wanted to kiss her.

"And anyway, why are _you_ apologising?" Amy asked softly. "I gotta assume _you're_ tolerant of this kind of thing," and so saying she leaned in and kissed him.

A short while later Peter arrived home from work. He kissed Dana as she wandered out of the kitchen having just started supper, and then he nipped upstairs to the bathroom. When he came back down Dana was on the sofa reading some reviews in the paper. She looked up and smiled when Peter appeared in the doorway to ask, "How come Oscar has to leave the door open when he's kissing his girlfriend?"

"Ha!" Dana laughed dryly. "Imagine what would happen if it got back to the Jacksons that Amy was shut up in Oscar's bedroom with him."

"Fair enough," Peter conceded. He made his way to the kitchen and plucked a soda from the fridge, shouting over his shoulder, "Where's Jess?"

"She's out back playing rugby with Hayden!" Dana called after him.

Peter reappeared in the doorway, Pepsi in hand, looking extremely doubtful. "Say that again?" he requested.

"She's out back playing rugby with Hayden," Dana repeated patiently.

"_Jessica_ is? I don't believe you."

"Go and look for yourself if you want to."

Still looking very dubious, Peter went back to the kitchen to look out of the window. "Yikes!" he exclaimed, when he caught sight of the two-child rugby scrum in the half-light of the setting sun. "Whose turn is it to do the laundry?"

"Yours!" called Dana.

"Damn it," muttered Peter, returning to his wife and sitting down next to her. "What time are we expecting him to be picked up? We should probably try and clean him up a bit."

"Won't be long," replied Dana. "You're right – we really should do something about the state of him. I thought about telling them no, but there's no real harm in it. Andre already thinks I'm a bad mother – I might as well let them wallow in mud."

"I don't know much about rugby, but I think she was kicking his ass."

"That's my girl."

The doorbell rang. Peter put down his Pepsi and went to answer it. When he saw Casey Jackson standing on the doorstep, he became panicked for his son's sake. At that very moment Oscar was upstairs depraving Casey's little sister's virginal lips.

When Amy heard Casey's voice coming from downstairs, she leapt off the bed like she'd had an electric shock. Nothing but their lips had been touching, but she felt flushed and had to check her hair and complexion in Oscar's mirror. She even looked down to make sure that her clothes were all on straight.

The abrupt end to the kiss had surprised Oscar somewhat, but he quickly recovered and got calmly to his feet. He made for the stairs and Amy followed, no longer feeling alarmed now that she realised she hadn't _actually_ been doing anything wrong. If Casey knew they'd been kissing for twenty minutes he wouldn't like it, but frankly what business was it of his anyway?

Casey's eyes narrowed with suspicion when he looked over Peter's shoulder and saw Oscar and Amy descending the stairs. "I thought you said you were going to listen to music with some kid," he said accusingly.

"We did," his sister replied calmly.

"I don't hear any music," retorted Casey.

"We stopped listening to music twenty minutes ago," Amy told him.

"So what were you doing for the last twenty minutes?"

She hadn't planned to tell him if he didn't ask, but she wasn't going to answer a direct question with an outright lie. So Amy said defiantly, "We were kissing."

"WHAT?"

"We were kissing," Amy repeated. "On Oscar's bed. For twenty minutes."

"With the door open," Peter muttered to himself, retreating hastily through the nearest doorway. He met Jessica on the way, and she gave him a muddy welcoming hug.

Casey was rendered speechless by the news. His look of surprise was steadily turning to one of anger, and Amy was meeting his gaze with all the defiance she was feeling. The loaded silence was making Oscar uncomfortable, so he decided to break it: "We've been seeing each other seven months, Case, and it's the first time we've kissed for more than a few seconds. What do you think I'm going to do to her?"

Casey ignored him. He looked straight at Amy and almost shouted at her, "You don't listen to me, do you! You don't know the kind of thing he's thinking when he's kissing you!"

"Well neither do you!" exclaimed Oscar, outraged.

"And how do you know I'm not thinking the same thing?" demanded Amy.

"AJ, I don't think that'll help," Oscar murmured quietly, next to her ear.

"My sister is fifteen," Casey told him maliciously. "She's too young."

"Rumour has it that you got to second base at fifteen," snapped Amy. "And you don't wanna know what Tara was doing with guys when she was my age."

"Oscar, she's my kid sister," Casey went on, in slightly more reasonable tones. "How would you feel if it was Jessica?"

Oscar blinked at him a few times, wondering how to begin pointing out what was wrong with that comparison. Finally he said, "My sister isn't even twelve."

"_My_ sister doesn't look much more than twelve," retorted Casey, catching sight of Jessica hanging around in the hallway (she had been forbidden to sit down until she'd cleaned herself up and put on some fresh clothes). Looking carefully at her he went on, "You might even go so far as to say that Jess looks older than AJ…"

Gripped with a sudden rage, Oscar gave Casey a small but firm shove out onto the doorstep and stepped between him and Jessica. "Who were you calling a cradle-robbing perv the other day?" he hissed vehemently.

"Don't!" cried Amy, grabbing Oscar's bunched fist (though she was sure he had no intention of using it). "He doesn't mean it, Oscar. He's just using Jess to try and get back at you."

"Something like that," Casey had to admit. "I wouldn't really. You're the only cradle-snatcher around here, Oscar."

Amy looked furious enough to burst. Oscar felt pretty angry too, but his common sense prevailed and told him to avoid conflict. He shut his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and then said calmly, "I don't have time for this right now, Casey. A bigger problem than you turned up the other day – you'll have to wait your turn."

Casey looked about to argue, but Amy stopped him with a sharp "Come on" and started walking quickly towards their mother's car. Casey followed, and they started the argument that would last the entire journey home. Oscar thought he heard Casey say something to Amy about being careful whom she batted her eyes at, and she bit back with some comment about how not everybody was a testosterone-fuelled pervert like him and anyway what the hell did he think he was doing eyeing up eleven-year-old girls.

_Oh shit_, thought Oscar, once he was back inside. Hayden was standing in the hallway, his hands, face, clothes and hair streaked with mud. The wounded expression on his face told Oscar that he had certainly heard the "bigger problem" comment.

"Do you mean us?" Hayden asked dejectedly.

"No," Oscar answered. "Not you. But you know your dad and I have problems."

"Bigger problems than your girlfriend's brother trying to split you up?"

"Of course not. I'm sorry – I didn't mean that. I only said it to get rid of him."

"Ha – yeah right," scoffed Jessica, suddenly emerging from the sitting room. She too was caked in mud, much of it caught up in her disorderly curls. It would be hell to get out. "You complain more about Andre than you do about Casey. He's the biggest problem you're ever likely to have."

A dramatic change suddenly came over Hayden. His wide blue eyes narrowed with anger and he turned sharply on Jessica, shouting furiously, "Hey, that's my dad you're talking about!"

"I know," Jessica retorted, her upper lip curled derisively.

"You've got no right!" yelled Hayden. "You don't even know him – and he's never done anything to you!"

"I know he dumped my mom for some orchestra and left her with a tiny baby!" Jessica yelled back. "You might as well accept that your dad's a _jerk_ because it's only a matter of time before he leaves you and you're bratty little - "

Oscar breathed a sigh of relief when Jessica was suddenly plucked out of the hallway, her onslaught coming to an abrupt halt as she disappeared into the sitting room. If she wasn't shouting abuse at an innocent boy the vanishing act could have been quite comical. Hayden looked angrily for a moment at the spot where she had been standing, and then quite suddenly he started up the stairs.

"Hayden!" called Oscar, hurrying after him. "Are you ok?"

"Sure," shrugged Hayden, though he was obviously fighting tears. "I don't care what she thinks."

"Good, because as much as I love her she can be a total bitch sometimes. You'd – um – better jump in the shower. You'll find carrier bags in the linen closet – just chuck your clothes in one and I'll find you something else to wear."

"Thanks."

Down in the sitting room, Jessica was really feeling the repercussions from her impulsive behaviour.

"There's no excuse for that," Dana firmly chastised her, the words jarred slightly by her clenched jaw. "I thought you'd grown out of this. You had damn well better start behaving yourself, young lady, or I am _really_ going to start punishing!"

"Oh yeah?" challenged Jessica. "How?"

"Well the charity stores can always use DVDs."

"WHAT?"

"And if you make me _really_ mad I might just call the school and ask them to take you off the soccer team."

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

"But Mo-om!" whinged Jessica. "I only did it because of you! Didn't Andre walk out on you when Oscar was a baby, or did I miss something?"

"We all know what Andre did, including Hayden," retorted Dana. "He doesn't need you to remind him." Then she took a deep breath and said, much more calmly, "I don't understand what happened. Ten minutes ago the two of you were outside playing rugby."

"Seventeen years ago you were married to his father," retorted Jessica.

"Aren't you even sorry you upset him?"

"I didn't upset him. He doesn't care what I think."

"I think he does," Dana contradicted her. "He likes you."

Jessica looked surprised for a moment, and then extremely doubtful. So what if she and Hayden had been playing rugby together that afternoon? It didn't mean anything. He was a Wallance and she was a Venkman. Mutual dislike was in their blood.

The doorbell rang again.

"That'll be another _Wallance_," Jessica fairly spat, pulling a face. "I'd almost rather it was Andre. I am _really _not in the mood for Kate right now."

Against everyone's expectations, Jessica's wish was gratified. She instantly took it back. Kate was one of the most irritating people imaginable, but her husband was much worse. Peter was caught off guard when he answered the door to Andre. Neither man could bring himself to say hello, and they were silent for a good twenty seconds – in the next room Dana and Jessica wondered what was going on.

Then at last Peter announced, "He's in the shower."

"What's he doing in the shower?" asked Andre.

"Washing."

"Why?"

"Because a moment ago he looked like this," Jessica cut in, making quite an entrance into the hallway and holding out her arms to accentuate her mud-spattered appearance.

"What happened?" demanded Andre.

"We were playing rugby," Jessica told him, looking facetiously at him through strands of mud-caked hair.

"Hayden was playing rugby?" Andre asked incredulously. "With _you_?"

"You got a problem with that?" demanded Peter.

"Well…" began Andre.

"Well what?"

"Well. Look at her. You actually _encourage_ your daughter to behave like that? No wonder she's…" he stopped short.

"Go on," invited Jessica, interested to hear this.

Andre ignored her. Instead he looked at Peter and said, "I'd really rather my son didn't play with her. We – uh – don't encourage that kind of thing."

"Why don't you want your son to play with her?" demanded Peter. "Because she has a mind of her own? Are you worried it'll rub off?"

"No. Because she's coarse and ill-mannered," retorted Andre.

"She isn't. She's just had room to develop a personality in the absence of controlling parents. At least she's not a mindless zombie too scared to speak out if she - "

Thankfully Oscar managed to intercept the argument before his mother did – that could have been nasty. "Dad, cut the psychobabble," he snapped, quickly descending the stairs. "It's bad enough Hayden and Jess ripping chunks out of each other, but you're both old enough to know better. Andre, you'd better come with me," he said stiffly, and started up the stairs again.

When Andre had disappeared upstairs after Oscar, Peter and Jessica both noticed Dana standing in the sitting room doorway looking positively murderous. She took a step towards the staircase but Peter stopped her with, "I wouldn't, honey. Oscar's already pissed at me and Jess."

"I don't care!" fumed Dana. "I'm not having that man badmouth my daughter in my own house!"

"Do you care what he thinks?" asked Jessica. "_I_ don't. And anyway he was outside on the porch," she added.

"Why did he even come here?" demanded Dana. "Doesn't he realise we all hate his guts?"

Oscar had taken Andre into his bedroom and was now standing between him and the open doorway, hoping that his body would act as a dam to the heated conversation wafting up from the hallway. Oscar vaguely wondered why he was so anxious to spare Andre's feelings. Dana was right: he must know that he wasn't generally liked among the Venkman family. And much of what was being said was probably justified anyway – he'd been way out of line.

"Listen," Oscar began sternly. "If I ever hear you badmouthing my sister again I'll have nothing more to do with you."

"I'm sorry," Andre deadpanned.

"Because she's a great girl," Oscar went on. "She may not be sweet and polite like Emi but she's smart and go-getting and we're real proud of her."

"I'm sorry," Andre said again.

An awkward silence ensued. Andre looked vaguely around the room, his face tensing slightly every time his eyes fell upon a heavy metal poster. Even after all these years Oscar continued to be amazed at the sheer indifference he felt whenever he was with his so-called father. Evidently "father" was a word with two very different meanings: it could be the man who cuddled you and picked you up from school and taught you to ride a bike and all the other wonderful clichés; or it could be the man whose only real use was to put half of you into your mother. Somebody's dad could be both of those things of course, if that was his choice – but they really didn't go hand-in-hand. It was striking how much Oscar just _didn't love_ Andre.

_Does he love me_? wondered Oscar. _He obviously loves Hayden and Lars and Emi despite not wanting them to play rugby – but does he love me_? Not that he cared much. He only wondered out of idle curiosity.

Andre's eyes finally came to rest on the waste paper basket of all things. He amazed Oscar by taking the trouble to lean over the bin and further inspect its contents, making the baffling remark: "You've been eating a lot of sweets."

"So?" snapped Oscar.

Andre just shrugged, and then started rifling through Oscar's CD collection. Oscar found it absolutely infuriating – he just wanted him to _leave_.

"Oh. Hi. It's you," a small voice came from the doorway, and Oscar turned to see Hayden standing there. He was wearing an old pair of jeans and a sweater that used to belong to Oscar, and now even Jessica had grown out of them. His fair hair was damp and shiny – and thankfully there was no trace of the mud.

"Hi," Andre responded, switching on a smile. "Are you ready to go?"

"S'pose," Hayden shrugged nonchalantly. "Thanks for all that, Oscar."

"What were you doing?" Andre asked, as he followed his son downstairs.

"Listening to music mostly."

"What kind of music?"

"All kinds. I think I like eighties indie guitar anthems."

"Really?" It came out as a strangled croak.

x x x

That night after the kids were in bed, Andre took Kate to the hotel bar and told her about the latest development in their older son's personality makeover. Kate bit her lip as though suppressing an opinion, and Andre noticed.

"Go on," he invited. "Whatever it is say it."

"Indie guitar anthems?"

"That's what he said."

"Oh well," Kate sighed resignedly. "It's his decision."

"So how do you feel about this whole rugby business?" asked Andre.

"Well it'll keep him fit. It's a fine upstanding sport, old boy – nice bit of rugger," japed Kate, exaggerating her polished English accent to imitate the vintage masters at Hayden's school. "You needn't mind, darling. That's what British schoolboys do."

"He played rugby with Venkman's daughter this afternoon."

"That's nice. I always got the impression she didn't like us very much."

"Do you know why he's decided he likes indie guitar anthems?" Andre asked suddenly. "It's because of Oscar. And you should have seen the state of that Venkman girl when I went to pick him up. It's one thing that family turning Oscar into a punk but if it's going to rub off on Hayden as well…"

"What?" demanded Kate. "You can't stop letting the children see Oscar – he's your son. You know darling, sometimes I think you'd rather not have any contact with him at all."

"It's just difficult, that's all," reasoned Andre. "His mother hates me. That girl is so rude they ought to be ashamed of her, and Dana's husband… I just _hate_ what he's done to Oscar. The kid's a long-haired rag-wearing _rock musician_ dating a b- "

"You'd better not have been about to say 'black girl'," snapped Kate, when he stopped short.

"I was," Andre confessed. "I'm sorry, Kate. I just can't get used to the idea."

"Darling, it's one thing being surprised, but I'd have to get awfully cross with you if I thought you actually _minded_ her being black. She's a very, _very_ nice girl – and she seems intelligent. Face it darling, she's exactly the kind of girlfriend you'd want for your son if only she were white. And anyway, how is Oscar's stepfather responsible for him liking black girls?"

"It's just their lifestyle. Oscar wouldn't have the opportunity to like black girls if not for Venkman's extraordinary social circles."

"But darling, isn't that a good thing?"

"Well that depends on your point of view."

"Honestly!" snapped Kate. "I feel quite ashamed of you sometimes, Andre. Oscar's happy – what else matters? And you'd jolly well better stop complaining about him. He's your son and you have a responsibility to him."

"Oh Kate," sighed Andre. "Why do you give me such a hard time about it? It's so difficult for me to see his mother."

"You say it was a mistake to marry her – well mistakes have consequences," retorted Kate. "She and Oscar are a package deal, darling – and I certainly hope this talk of _difficulty_ doesn't allude to your own son."

Andre said nothing. Though he wouldn't tell Kate (she'd jump down his throat if he did), the truth was that he _did_ find it difficult to see Oscar. Marrying Dana was a mistake that Andre would sooner forget. Oscar made that impossible. Without him Dana and Andre might even be able to go back to being friends – but that would never happen now.

x x x

Danny called at the Venkmans' on Tuesday evening to enquire after Oscar's progress as far as rhyming his emotions went. Oscar answered by throwing himself spectacularly onto his bed and letting out an extremely baffling sound: something like a strangled laugh.

"What was that?" Danny asked confusedly.

"It was the nearest I could get to hysterical laughter," Oscar answered soberly. "How can I possibly rhyme my emotions? I am thoroughly bewildered as to what my emotions actually _are_."

"Ok, so we'll make a list," Danny suggested helpfully. He picked up a notepad and a ballpoint pen from Oscar's desk and said, "Come on. Tell me how you feel."

"Well," mused Oscar, "first and foremost I feel pissed at Andre. I also continue to feel strange thinking of him as my _father_ – apart from making me mad with how he reacted to my black girlfriend I feel absolutely nothing for him. I don't love him, I don't even feel the slightest connection – which is funny," he added, "because he's the only link I have with Hayden, and the last couple of days Hayden has almost felt like my brother. I never felt like that about any of the Wallances before."

"Ok, good," Danny approved, scribbling frantically. "Anything else?"

"Plenty," Oscar smiled dryly. "I feel hurt and betrayed by my grandmother's treachery."

"Hurt… and… betrayed…" muttered Danny, as he jotted the words down.

"And kinda sad," Oscar went on, "because my little sister is growing up."

"Aww. That's sweet."

"I'm also mad at her for being such a bitch to Hayden just because she happens not to like his father. And the couple of hours they actually got on… crazy! And I continue to feel thoroughly pissed off with Casey Jackson for the way he treats me."

"And do you still feel guilty that he and AJ are no longer close because of you?" asked Danny.

"Yes," Oscar confirmed. "I do. And…"

"And?"

"And… I think I'm falling in love."

"Oscar Wallance, you are not!" exclaimed Danny. "With Amy?"

"Of course with Amy."

"You can't – she's too young. She won't love you back."

"Well I can't help it," Oscar said defensively. "The more I get to know her the more I like her. After seven months of dating her I've come to like her a little too much."

"And what rhymes with much?"

"Touch. That's easy. We use it all the time."

"There you go – you're well on the way. Pretty soon you'll have an entire song. Here is a list of your emotions," and Danny dumped the notebook on the bed beside Oscar. "Start rhyming them."

x x x

_A plane drops in at JFK,  
__It sends me into disarray,  
__My life spirals out of control.  
__He does something to make me mad,  
__Then I don't care – he's not my dad,  
__He's just never had any hold.  
__He doesn't like my favorite song,  
__His taste and mine don't get along,  
__Well that's ok – until he sees  
__Just what 'Brown Sugar' means to me.  
__Everything he sees is black-and-white,  
__Including you and me – but we're all right,  
__The only thing that matters is what we feel,  
__And I think I'm falling in love with you for real._

_Things are changing every day,  
__I'm so scared you won't want to stay,  
__Two years between us could be too much.  
__Your brother'd love it if we split,  
__I know I'd never get over it,  
__I couldn't last for long without your touch.  
__Even the things I'm sure of seem far away,  
__Little sister grows older and more distant every day.  
__I was hurt and betrayed by my own grandmother,  
__Once I was even friends with your brother,  
__You and he aren't as close as you used to be,  
__I hate that it's because of me.  
__Are you as constant as you seem?  
__Or are you just a perfect dream?  
__I hope you never realise you're too good for me.  
__I like you far too much to stand to see you leave.  
__Everything they see is black and white,  
__Including you and me – but we're all right,  
__The only thing that matters is what we feel,  
__And I think I'm falling in love with you for real._

_END_

_"Black and White"… unless I can come up with something better… by Oscar Venkman._

THE END


End file.
